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How many does it take before you find your Prince?

Kinky Deja Vu

And my sincere apologies for leaving you for such a long period of time!

You see, my Internet connection has been playing silly buggers and every time I typed something up for your viewing pleasure, I either couldn’t upload the bloody thing or it would straight out get deleted! Very traumatising stuff Lovers, many bottles of wine suffered a tragic end after said deleting’s.

But, never fear! I’ve hopped an early train into uni and I’m here three hours earlier than my class to abuse the free wifi and cheap coffee. Plus one of my teachers just spotted me and she is of the opinion that I’m ‘getting an early start on my assignments.’

Whatever helps her sleep at night I guess.

So, here we are; another year, another Kinkfest, another wasted opportunity for wild sex…

However Lovers, I’ll be the first to admit that that last factor was not my fault in the least!

Blame the oysters!

Shall I explain Lovers? I think I shall.

Exactly one year ago I connected with a fellow on the wonderful world of Tinder.

His name was Stan.

Stan seemed different, eclectic, eccentric if you will. He wasn’t particularly my type but I figured what the hell, let’s try an oddball on for size.

And my what an oddball.

Stan suggested we meet at some fancy restaurant for dessert.

Keh? No cheap beers in some seedy bar?

What a wild change of pace!

I happily agreed. And that was how I found myself sauntering down a swanky street towards a succulent strawberry tart at 9pm on a Friday night.

I ended up arriving a touch early, such was my eagerness for the sweet treats I’d been promised, so I popped into the bar next door for a cheeky solo bevvy.

After I’d finished up my exorbitantly priced drink, (note to self: never drink with the fancy people unless they’re buying!) I was about to head back over to the restaurant, confidant that Stan would have arrived by now.

Just as I was looking both ways to cross the road (it takes more than one beer for me to forget my road safety rules!) I noticed a solitary figure standing directly across from our appointed meeting place. He hadn’t spotted me so I pulled out my phone and had a quick glance at Stan’s Tinder profile once more.

Yep, it was him.

But why was he standing there in the shadows like some creepy stalker? Must have been his eclectic side coming out.

I decided to beat him at his own game and darted into the shadows myself, sliding along the building beside me until I was right behind him.

Here we go, I giggled to myself, now or never.

“Surprise!” I cried, as I flung my hands in the air for mass surprise effect.

Yeah I surprised him all right, and the grumpy bastard was not happy about it.

“What are you doing?” he barked.

I was startled at the amount of anger in his voice, but I decided to try and keep things light.

“I could ask you the same thing.” I said coyly, throwing in a cheeky grin for good measure.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He sniffed, having the audacity to look affronted.

Urgh, worst start to a date ever.

“Well,” I started, desperately flailing for any way to get things back on track. “We’re both here now, so why don’t we go in?”

He nodded curtly and we headed over the road.

Once inside, Stan steered me towards a table by the window.

Very romantic. Many bonus points for Stan.

These bonus points were quickly diminished however, when Stan tried to persuade me that everything I ordered was wrong. I opted for a strawberry tart and dessert wine.

No no no, I would be having the crème brule and French champagne.

I laughed politely at Stan’s bossy command and decided to meet him in the middle with a dessert wine and crème brule.

This did not please Stan.

Calm down control freak!

I had to listen to a half an hour lecture about how real French champagne is not only the best accompaniment for dessert, but the only one. I sat, listlessly waiting for my dessert as I was schooled on the perfect pop of a champagne bubble as it disintegrates in ones mouth.

If only the dude knew that my favourite wine was anything under five dollars a bottle.

Now that’s a pop I can appreciate.

Finally I was saved as my flaming crème brule was served to the table.

I squealed inwardly as the molten sugar melted in front of me. It looked amazing!

Without any preamble I grabbed my fork and dug in, delighting in the crackle of toffee as I broke through the surface.

Then I remembered I was on a date and I really should be paying attention to the man opposite.

Reluctantly I dragged my gaze away from my true love and over to Stan. Luckily he was too busy swirling his expensive scotch to notice my preoccupation. Once the swirling had ceased and the scotch was sufficiently ‘aerated’ for sir to commence drinking it, he quaffed it in one mouthful.

What a waste of seventeen bucks.

The night continued in this awkward fashion for quite some time, punctuated by waiters flitting past and bringing more drinks (sadly only one dessert though.)

I had glanced at the menu earlier and as the drinks flowed I started to sweat a little.

I couldn’t afford this!

Bloody Stan pushed and pushed me until I caved and ordered a French champagne (which tasted like ass by the way, and cost twenty two dollars for a thimble sized glass.)

I had to put a stop to the spending before Stan went totally wild and ordered a bottle of some crazy shit.

Luckily for me the restaurant was closing. I breathed a sigh of relief as the waiter placed the bill on the table.

My relief turned to horror when I saw that dessert and a few drinks had amounted to over one hundred and fifty dollars!

I excused myself and swept off to the fancy bathrooms, feeling very ill indeed. I couldn’t throw up though, that was seventy-five dollars worth of brule and wine in my stomach!

I took a few deep breaths before checking my bank account.

$23.74.

Not the monumental sum I had hoped for.

With a sigh I transferred money from my rent account, cursing the amount of two-minute noodles I would have to eat to make up for this date.

I pasted a smile onto my face and returned to the table, ready to go Dutch on dessert.

“Ready to go?” asked Stan.

“Sure,” I replied, “Where do we settle up?”

“Oh that’s already done.”

And I was in love.

Ok, maybe not, but the relief that swept through me was palpable. I wasn’t going to be living on noodles and carrots for the next month!

My joy was so overwhelming that when Stan suggested we go somewhere for another drink, I obliged immediately.

Why, why do you do this to yourself Claire?

We settled in at a mercifully cheap pub and I bought us pints. (It was the least I could do after dessert really.)

What I didn’t realise was what that pint would unleash.

The whole night Stan had been stoic, stiff, and fairly arrogant really. But with that pint everything about him changed. He was still incredibly intimidating, but he was looser, more open and less of a penetrating gaze dude.

Until the tears started.

That’s right Lovers, I made the man cry on our first date!

We had been talking about family, and all of a sudden he was opening up and disclosing huge revelations. They literally just spilled out of him. He didn’t even stop and take a breath half the time. He sobbed as he recounted how his parents had moved to Fiji a year ago and left him all alone in the big empty house and he was so depressed and he tried to kill himself and look here’s the scars from that attempt and oh yeah he was engaged but she left him because he’s so messed up and hey let’s go find some drugs and get messed up.

Holy shitwaffles, I broke the oddball!

I soothed him as best I could, wondering what I did to deserve such a tirade when first dates were supposed to be all about small talk and sexy innuendo.

Stan eventually went to wash his face and two middle-aged ladies approached me to ask if I was all right.

Wow, did we look that odd?

“He just looks very intense dear.” Said one of the ladies as she patted my shoulder gently.

I know right?

I nodded and thanked them for their concern.

This was turning out to be the weirdest date ever.

Stan returned soon after, looking a little better, but still decidedly soggy.

“So,” he said “back to mine?”

Keh? He wanted sex after all that? When did tears become foreplay? I started to make my excuses but then the bastard got emotional on me again and started breaking down my resolve.

“I can just really talk to you, you know?” he sniffled at me. “I think we have a real connection. I want to explore that.”

And then he drove the final nail into the coffin.

“Please don’t leave me alone tonight.”

Gah! Bloody men with their puppy dog eyes and suicidal tendencies!

I finally agreed, and we hopped into a taxi towards the ass end of nowhere. The dude lived soo far away!

By the time we got back to his place we were so tired we literally passed out straight away with no funny business and thankfully no talking.

The next morning was kind of nice. Stan was a solid cuddler, and I was happy to smush myself into his frame and soak up the spoonage. We took a shower soon afterwards (my suggestion, partly because I really needed a shower but also I was keen to see the goods.) And the goods were good, no crazy piercings or genetic misfortunes. Much to Stan’s surprise, I decided to be all spontaneous and give him a cheeky shower blowjob.

But oh how I had to pay for it afterwards.

“I’m the dominant one here. I should be doing that to you.” He sulked. Yes people, he was actually upset about me going down on him.

Dude, just accept the blowjob and be happy about it! But no no, I had to hear all about how he was a dom and he’d never had a girl initiate something and all the crap that followed.

I pretended to listen as I got dressed, steeling myself for the big question I had to ask him. When Stan finally finished his unfair blowjob tirade, I walked up to him and gave him a big kiss. Better to butter him up before I asked him.

“So, can you drive me home?” I asked sweetly.

Honestly, you’d think I’d asked him to watch porn with his Grandma. The groans, the complaints, the procrastinating!

“Why? Can’t you just get a taxi? I’m so tired. I shouldn’t be driving. You should stay.”

But I had other plans.

That was exactly one year ago, and on that day was Ozkinkfest 2015. No way I was missing that.

Stan finally agreed to drive me home and after a quick kiss and a smile I jumped out of his car and never saw him again.

Until yesterday.

So what happened this time Lovers? Did I unfairly have sex with him? Did I emasculate him once more by taking charge? Or did I take him to Ozkinkfest 2016 and scare the bejeesus out of him?

Stay tuned for the kinky déjà vu!

Claire

Xx

So Lovers, instead of the usual pickup line I’m asking for your support instead. It’s that time of year again when Kinkly.com holds their annual Sex Blogging Superheroes competition. Last year we made it into the top 100! So if you like what you read and you want to support this little old blog, head to